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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741951">Diminuire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme'>beautysupreme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, Implied Dutch/Arthur, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-con isnt dutch/arthur, Self Sacrifice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:42:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,238</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite John and Arthur's inclinations, Dutch would have preferred running around Saint Denis' cemetery over sitting in Angelo Bronte's parlor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: Nonconsensual oral sex, sexual assault, self-loathing</p><p>This first chapter(?) isn't intended to be erotic (which is outside of my normal niche). I have an annoying habit of putting characters in difficult or awkward situations in my head and this is my attempt to work through that. </p><p>After recently playing the "A Man of Honor" mission a second time, something about Dutch telling John and Arthur they took too long made my mind take it to dark territory. </p><p>This may be followed up with a comfort Dutch/Arthur chapter depending on how it's received.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The awkward silence permeating the room was painfully evident to Dutch. He had nothing else to contribute to the dwindling conversation. Until now, they had discussed politics and Bronte had not been shy in toting his connections.  He tried to keep the growing irritation from showing on his face as he wondered what in the Hell was taking Arthur and John so long.  He was searching for some topic to discuss until they returned.</p><p>"My friend told me he was robbed by a gang of young boys..."</p><p>"Yes, they can be an unruly bunch but they are my eyes and ears all over this city. Show a boy who has nothing a little kindness and he will be loyal forever."</p><p>Dutch chuckled as he downed another shot, the alcohol burning his throat. He and Bronte were more alike than he originally thought. He raised his glass, nodding to the nameless servant who poured another. To his surprise, Bronte moved from the opposite sofa to the seat beside him. The man dropped his tone as he leaned in close.</p><p>"You associate with those...cattle wrestlers,  yet you strike me as a man who appreciates finer things…This intrigues me."</p><p>Bronte's hand landed on his thigh and Dutch immediately recoiled, not accustomed to such an open, and forward, advance from another man with other people present. Bronte's men paid no attention - there weren't any looks of disgust or raised eyebrows other than his. The hand continued up his thigh. Bronte wasn't interested in Dutch's consent or lack thereof. Another hand found the dark curls on the back of his head and began playfully pulling on them as one would do with a dog. Dutch pulled away from the man's advances, quickly standing and straightening his vest. </p><p>"I can assure you...<em> Signor </em> Bronte, I am not an interesting man." Dutch kept his voice light to avoid offending his host, "I should go check on my associates."</p><p>"Sit the fuck down! I think you'll soon discover that here, people are whatever I want them to be. You are no exception." </p><p>Bronte's voice boomed through the parlor but the guards didn't flinch. Dutch felt his stomach turn. It had been a long time since he had worried for his own personal safety but he recognized the feeling of dread sinking in his stomach like a stone. He could certainly take Angelo Bronte in a fight. He had never been a man to be taken advantage of, especially through implications alone, but he understood how delicate the situation was. Even if Bronte didn't have such lucrative connections, a young boy's safety was at stake.</p><p>"I can be a kind man so I will give you a choice: accompany me to my bedroom, or, if you don't wish to wait, I can fuck that lying mouth of yours right here. The choice is yours, Mr. Van der Linde."</p><p>Dutch felt bile burn his esophagus as Bronte's mouth found his neck. Hands roughly jerked the collar of his shirt to the side and Bronte began nipping and sucking a small bruise into existence on his shoulder. He tried to wipe his mind of what was happening.</p><p>"Mr. Bronte! I am sure there are other pursuits more worthy of your time." </p><p>"Enough," Bronte's grip tightened on his neck and he shoved Dutch's head down as he released himself from his pants, "Voglio quelle labbra su di me." </p><p>Dutch felt his arm brush over one of his revolvers as he fought for purchase, a reminder that he had the ability to put an end to his assault. As his hands splayed over his holster, he scrapped up the tiny crumb of self control he had remaining, reminding himself it would be a mistake to kill the man before getting John's son back or before they could get away from Saint Denise, given Bronte's connections. He thought of Molly. For months he had obliged her just fine in effort to keep the peace in the camp with their domestic situation, despite no longer being entirely interested.  </p><p>"Mettilo in bocca. Succhialo." Bronte laughed as he pressed the head against Dutch's lips. Despite his best effort, the large hands groping at him and the masculine frame now leaning against him was too different from Molly to culminate the fantasy.  Dutch squeezed his eyes shut but dared not think of Arthur, not wanting to remember this when he looked at him. Instead, he tried to void himself of any thought, just going through the motions to get it over with. The man continued speaking in his mother tongue through moans and growls, ruining the entire language for Dutch.</p><p>"Sei la mia puttanella," Bronte moaned as he ran his hand over Dutch's back, grabbing at his vest and twisting it. He began bucking hard into his mouth, hitting his tonsils and causing him to sputter. When he tried to pull away, the man gripped his throat, squeezing as he continued fucking his mouth, unphased by Dutch's choked protests. His throat burned and his eyes were watering as his ego was torn to shreds.</p><p>"STO PER VENIRE...STO VENENDO!"</p><p>The entire endeavor took far too long before Bronte came without warning - at least in a language Dutch understood. When he felt the man's hips become more erratic, he tried to jerk away but the man held his head in place, reminding him he was just an object. The man came in droves; the thick, warm liquid causing him to retch, finally able to pull away as the man's grip loosened. Dutch spit cum and vomit on the expensive marble tile. His eyes could have burnt a hole right through Bronte's head. The glare only afforded a laugh from the other man.</p><p>"I should make you lick that up like a dog, but lucky for you, I grow tired of looking at you. Here's a bone," The man slipped an envelope in Dutch's pocket before making his way to the stairs, "Until we meet again, bello."</p><p>"The boy?" His voice was raw and the two simple words clawed at his throat.</p><p>"I'll have someone send him out." Bronte paused at the bottom of the staircase, casting his eyes over Dutch, "You would do well to learn some manners yourself. A thank you should be said next time or else I may better acquaint myself with your handsome blonde friend. Now get out of my sight."</p><p><em> Gladly</em>. Dutch was on his feet too quickly to vocalize the sentiment, his hands balled into tight fists. The men guarding the front entrance made no eye contact with him as he pushed through the ornate doors. He let gravity pull him down to the steps of the mansion. He felt used and cheap. All the rage and self doubt that had been building up since Blackwater was coming to a tipping point. He pressed his hand to his stomach, biting more rising bile. As an afterthought, he pulled the envelope from his pocket. An invitation.</p><p>He heard the patter of small feet and Jack's voice, drenched in joy, "Uncle Dutch!"</p><p>"Are you alright?" Dutch patted the boy's back as he took a seat beside him.</p><p>"Yes, I'm fine! Are you staying here too?" The excitement in the boy's voice made it sound like he had been on a recreational trip as opposed to being kidnapped.</p><p>"You're not staying here any more, Jack. You're going <em> home </em>." Dutch caught the irritation in his voice and quickly quelled it. Hooves pierced through the quiet street in front of the mansion. He could see Arthur and John dismounting, "Well...you took your time." </p><p>"Jack!" </p><p>"Pa!"</p><p>John looked genuinely elated, making Dutch briefly forget what had transpired.  He watched as the father and son duo embraced for what may have been the first time since Jack was born. Arthur grinned as he patted the boy on the back in passing, making his way toward him. Dutch avoided eye contact as he stood.</p><p>"Where's your host?" Arthur glanced around, obviously surprised to find him on the steps instead of yucking it up with Bronte or whatever he had envisioned. The smile quickly faded from the blonde's face when he saw the pensive glare.</p><p>"Like I said...you took your time." Dutch kept his voice guarded but the anger bubbled, tension just below the surface - ready to snap and lash out at them both. John was oblivious but he could see Arthur's brow furrow; he had been with him long enough to pick up on the nuances of his tone. Arthur briefly reached out to touch his arm, concern evident on his face. Dutch avoided the touch, walking toward the gates, "Let's get going."</p><p>He remembered Bronte's threat, as bitter as the lingering taste of vomit. He paused, gesturing for John, Jack, and Arthur to continue ahead. He lowered his voice as he leaned toward the guard by the gate, forcing the words from his mouth, "Hey, friend. Thank Mr. Bronte...for everything."</p><p>If the guard picked up on the sneer in his voice, he didn't indicate as much, only nodding that he would relay the message. Dutch continued on, ignoring Arthur's worried gaze.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lightning split the sky above Shady Belle as Dutch leaned over the balcony connected to his temporary room. He had retired early after his speech and a domestic dispute with Molly. He was seething through the entire speech, angry at how vulnerable he had been and the self doubt the event had stirred up, consuming him.</p><p>Molly had found it necessary to berate him for not bemoaning to her and he found the irony comical. One of the things he had always enjoyed about Arthur's company was the man knew it was easier not to voice their worries, as if it kept the very things they dreaded from culminating in reality; Bronte had stripped him of that as well. He had noticed Arthur's ever growing concern from across the campfire and it infuriated him as much as Molly's sad puppy eyes, a nagging reminder that he was failing.</p><p>His encounter with Bronte left him reeling with just how powerless he was and also to the change that was sure to befall all of them. The man was the manifestation of everything he hated, including the parts he hated about himself - the parts derived from his own fear and self doubt which had been overpowering him - just as Bronte had. He heard the hinges of the old bedroom doors screech open, causing his shoulders to tense. </p><p>"Arthur."</p><p>A moment passed and heavy silence filled the room with exception to the storm that raged outside. The growing feeling of disappointment amplified tenfold when he looked at the other man. He had raised Arthur, influenced him, and instilled in him his strange sense of morality. He was a shining reminder of all the things Dutch had wanted to be, but ultimately was not. </p><p>"Is everythin' alright?" Arthur's voice was measured yet still full of coarse comfort. He was the picture of the American cowboy: tall, built, gruff and all around masculine. The encounter with Bronte left him questioning his own motives in regard to everything, especially Arthur. He had pursued the younger man feverently after he noticed the shy looks and lingering touches, a raw animalistic need to conquer a man physically stronger than him; Fucking Arthur had always fed into his ego. Even now, as guilt settled in the pit of his stomach at what may or may not have been him taking advantage of a younger man who looked up to him, he wanted to shove him on the bed and fuck him mercilessly until all traces of the self doubt and demasculinity he felt were gone. </p><p>"Everything's fine."</p><p>Arthur rounded the bed, feeling the tension in the man's back as if it were his own to bear. There was no point in trying to get Dutch to talk when he obviously didn't want to talk. He had his doubts when it came to the man's sincerity as he grew older, seeing past the thin veneer of his speeches and philosophies; but never the man himself. It didn't change how he cared for him. Dutch had taken him in when he had no one, barely older than him. They had grown together, shaped by romantically spun ideologies of freedom and righteousness. He always knew it was never about a code, as Mary was convinced. When it came down to it, he just chose Dutch, over all else. Without him, who was he if not just an afterthought of abuse and neglect. If he cut out everything that had been influenced by the man, there'd be nothing left. Dutch found him when no one else wanted him, kept him from being permanently abandoned; he wouldn't abandon him when there was no hope.</p><p>"I miss you, Dutch." </p><p>The sentiment took both men off guard. Arthur wasn't entirely sure why he had said it. It was true. He took a step forward, reaching toward Dutch's shoulder only for the man to shrug him away, "Don't."</p><p>Arthur froze. Dutch had never rejected his affection before and now it had happened twice in the same night. It had been weeks since they had been intimate. It had been even longer since Dutch spoke to him in confidence. It hurt.</p><p>"Sorry."</p><p>"Don't be. It's not...I just need to be alone - to think." Dutch sighed, grasping the remaining remnants he had of self control. He wanted to push the man to the bed and kiss him hard; to bury his face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in, campfire smoke, grass, sweat, and all. He wanted to take his frustration with himself out on Arthur's body. It would surely be a losing battle if the younger man touched him.</p><p>"Alright." Arthur nodded, judging the storm from the window. He wanted to put as much distance between them as possible, as if it would ease the feeling of being less than worthy of Dutch's trust and confidence. It didn't seem there would be a reprieve, confining him to the room just down the hall. Mary's words hit him, about not being open with his feelings - his pride keeping any mention of them constantly at bay. He had to force his jaw open, but he did so, thinking it would be a shame if everything could be rectified if only they both weren't so stubborn. Words came but not the ones he meant to say. Where he had intended to offer comfort, to say he would be down the hall if needed, instead just an empty sound, "Good night."</p><p>Thunder shook the frame of the house as rain pelted down. Dutch looked back at him for a brief moment and gave a short nod. For a fleeting moment, Arthur thought the man looked haunted and small. He lingered momentarily before turning to the door. The doorknob clicked open and he heard it, quiet, small and pitiful. </p><p>"Wait, Arthur...I'm sorry. Stay."</p><p>He pushed the door back to its frame, watching Dutch walk to him, tension breaking as the man touched his cheek. The man's normal scent of cigars and whiskey was gone, replaced by the smell of mint toothpaste.</p><p>"'s fine, Dutch. I wanna stay."</p><p>Dutch pressed his mouth against Arthur's, desperate to replace the taste of Bronte. Arthur's hand found its way to his hair, loosening a few strands from the pomade's hold as the kiss deepened. Dutch's hands found the man's hips and he backed him to the bed before pushing him down. Arthur felt his breath leave him as his back hit the old mattress. Dutch leaned over the foot of the bed, tugging at Arthur's pants. </p><p>"Do you want me?"</p><p>"What?" Arthur nearly laughed at the question. He didn't rightfully think Dutch ever cared. Their time together started out as fun, then it seemed to grow into a show of dominance as Arthur grew older and he was more than happy to demonstrate that he knew his place.</p><p>"Do. You. Want. Me."</p><p>"Yes, I god damn want you." Arthur mused as he gestured to the tent in his pants, "Thought that much was clear."</p><p>He watched the man pause for a moment, weighing the sincerity of his tone.  It all unsettled Arthur. Dutch was prone to moments of self doubt, but only in the intimacy of their private conversations, away from prying eyes and curious ears. It was never specifically stated, only evident in a tone or a gesture, the way his gaze would shift upward as if looking for some sort of divine intervention that he didn't wholly believe in. Those moments had been small flecks in time, fleeting and missed in the blink of an eye. Arthur had still seen him as the most confident bastard he knew but this seemed more permanent.</p><p>Arthur leaned into Dutch's touch as he traced his jawline. The man's hand grabbed his erection, causing Arthur to grind against the touch. He bit down on his lip to stifle a moan, well aware of how thin the walls and floorboards were.</p><p>"I need you to be vocal. Will you do that for me, Arthur?"</p><p>"Someone will hear us," Dutch seemed to need this but Arthur wasn't thrilled by the idea of the others knowing of their liaisons. </p><p>"I don't care."</p><p>"Well I do. I can't be a very good enforcer if everyone knows what I let you do to me."</p><p>"<em>Let </em> me do to you?" Dutch paused in his demonstrations, his touch becoming heavier. The sudden caged anger caught Arthur by surprise. The room was cast in silence that felt even more uncomfortable than if Dutch had yelled at him. The man noticed his fingers pressing into Arthur's jaw and pulled away, sitting back on his knees. </p><p>"<em>Like </em> you doin' to me. What is goin' on, Dutch?" Arthur sat up, his concern returning. </p><p>"I know you think I'm slipping -"</p><p>"I never said -"</p><p>"I do everything I can for this gang - for our <em> family </em>. I am under so much God damn pressure it's crushing me. I keep making the wrong decisions...I...Arthur, I don't know how much more of this I can take. Everyone is after us. I've led us into a corner. Every plan I make fails. I'm not fit to lead anyone any more."</p><p>Arthur wasn't sure what to say or do. He knew Dutch often feigned weakness to garner deeper loyalty through vulnerability but he also knew this wasn't one of those times. He followed his gut, scrambling off the bed and carefully pressing his hand to Dutch's shoulder. He didn't truly know how to comfort another man and as he said the words, it felt like he was calming a frantic horse, "Hey...hey...s'okay. It's gonna be okay."</p><p>"Arthur, just go…Please."</p><p>Arthur saw the look in Dutch's eyes, the guise of confidence crumbling, and it unnerved him. He did as Dutch asked, there was nothing new about that. He gnawed at the inside of his lip as anxiety gripped his stomach and twisted it, turning the event over in his head to figure out what he could have done or said differently. He made his way down the stairs, passing John on the way.</p><p>"Does Dutch seem off to you? I mean, more so than lately?" </p><p>Arthur paused at the question, his loyalty too strong to give in to John's concerns, even if they mimicked his own, "How you mean?"</p><p>"Since the Braithwaite's...Hell, maybe even before that...he seems to be unhinged."</p><p>"Unhinged?" Maybe Dutch did seem as such, but Arthur wouldn't listen to it from John, his voice turning to a low growl, "He just got your son back and you're callin' him unhinged?"</p><p>"Guess he's not the only one, huh?" John nudged Arthur's shoulder as he continued to his room. Arthur's hands clenched into fists, unsure why he had always felt the need to stand up for a man more than capable of doing so for himself, residing to let it go. He shook his head as he continued into the dilapidated dining room where Hosea was sitting at the weathered table, going over a map.</p><p>"He'll be alright."</p><p>Arthur looked at the man, unsure if he meant Dutch or John. He wanted to say something but there was nothing that hadn't been said before. Instead he took a seat and poured a cup of coffee from the canteen sitting on the table, "What's all this?"</p><p>"There's a bank in Saint Denis - when the time's right."</p><p>"I dunno…We just got here, Hosea."</p><p>"<em>When the time is right </em>, Arthur. Besides, I don't particularly want to be here longer than necessary. The sooner we get money, the sooner we can move to some place more...pleasant."</p><p>Arthur nodded, convinced the man was looking for a way to busy himself and let him have it. He watched Hosea study the layout of the city and turn over possible escape routes as the others settled down in the nooks and crannies of the house to keep out of the rain like mice. The house became shrouded in silence sans the crinkling of paper and Hosea occasionally marking the map. He heard footsteps overhead, not paying attention at first until he noticed they were heading to his room. Hosea glanced up at him, eyebrow gently raised before he returned to his work. Moments later, the stairs were softly creaking under Dutch's weight.  Arthur looked to the stairs to see the man standing there, clothes and hair still disheveled from earlier.</p><p>"Arthur, can we talk?" Dutch stopped himself from nodding toward the bedroom, shame in full bloom under Hosea's burning glare. He couldn't help but feel exposed. The man had known him longer than anyone. His nagging paranoia told him the man was well aware of his intentions, well meaning and otherwise, and despised him for perverting the relationship with a man they were both supposed to see as a son. </p><p>"'Course," Arthur nodded, careful not to scrape his chair across the floor in effort to avoid disturbing the others. Dutch met him at the base of the stairs, nodding toward the side door.</p><p>When they stepped out on the old veranda, the roar of the storm was amplified and the wind was spilling some of the rain on the foundation. Arthur could see the thinly veiled hysteria and doubt behind the man's eyes was still there, even more so. Arthur touched Dutch's shoulder, gripping him tight as if he were about to float off the Earth.</p><p>"There are so many things eatin' me up inside right now, son. I meant what I said back at Horseshoe and Clemmons...You are special to me, Arthur. I never... I'm sorry if I ever took advantage of our relationship."</p><p>"What are you on about?"</p><p>"You looked to me as a father...I took advantage of that...in many ways…"</p><p>"Dutch," Arthur laughed, unable to believe what Dutch was saying. It was the last thing he expected when the man drug him into the torrential downpour, "You flatter yourself! I mean you're enigmatic and charming and all but your powers of persuasion aren't that great. You're not <em>that</em> much older than me. You were younger than I am now when you took me - nearly a kid yourself. Besides that, I was a grown man when we started foolin' around - you didn't persuade me or nothin' like that</p><p>"I'm sure Hosea would disagree…"</p><p>"Don't much matter what Hosea thinks of it. He don't need to know."</p><p>"Arthur -"</p><p>"What happened with Bronte? Did he...did he do somethin' to Jack?" Arthur felt a sudden rage burn through him like a wildfire. He consciously dug his feet into the ground to keep from stalking toward his horse and lighting Bronte's mansion ablaze just as they had done with the Braithwaite's. He would drag the man down the stairs and beat his smarmy smile red until his eyes were swollen shut and he choked on his own blood and teeth.</p><p>"No - I don't think so." Dutch gripped both of Arthur's shoulders in an effort to pull him from the rage that was pulsing off him. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't confide the events that had unfolded to Arthur. The boy would doom them all in a fit of rage and violence, he had picked up Dutch's protective anger after all. It was beyond comprehension that someone would do such a thing to Dutch himself, and he'd prefer to keep it that way. He would have to divulge some truth for Arthur not to see right through a dismissive lie, "...The way he spoke and the things he told me - how he uses others. I see those same qualities in myself."</p><p>Dutch felt it just as strongly now; Arthur would tell him that wasn't the case and it would stoke his ego more. Arthur realized as much, resigning to instead say nothing. Dutch crossed his arms over his chest looking out at the storm in an attempt to quell the one raging in his mind. He felt the younger man's hand rest on the center of back before sliding over his shoulders. He felt Arthur lean against him and then a quick kiss was pressed to his temple, easing the furrow of his brow. Arthur would stay by his side, even when Dutch had no faith left in himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had hoped for this chapter to come off as darker than it did, but it seemed to want to cling more to the comfort aspect. </p><p>On a random side note, writing for this pairing has given me a lot of random trivial history facts, like when modern toothpaste (1873) and modern personal lubricant (1917) were available to the public.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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